


The Way Down

by dornishviper



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Earth C (Homestuck), Gen, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, salamander village
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 16:31:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18480055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dornishviper/pseuds/dornishviper
Summary: John runs out of milk and goes on a walk. Character study.





	The Way Down

**Author's Note:**

> I was having a lot of feelings about John in the epilogue, mostly because it felt so right that he would end up where he seems to be emotionally. I wanted to explore why John decided to stay in the Salamander Village instead of anywhere else, but John isn't the reflective type so here have some Symbolism(TM) instead.

Sunshine. A beam of light descends from the heavens, a perfect blue sky and a conspicuously yellow sun, and into your bedroom through a simple window. The warm glow against your cheek, kissing the skin of your eyelid, is just enough to wake you up to a knot in your throat. You groan. Blink. Try to shut your eyes closed, turn on your stomach. Maybe if you try hard enough, you can go back to sleep.

After a few futile minutes, you give up. You look at your phone - 10:25 AM and no unread messages.

You stretch your arms with a loud yawn and finally sit up on the edge of your bed, dropping your head in your hands. Your head is throbbing, but only lightly. You’re not really sure if that’s a headache building up, or if you’re just still tired. You swallow, feeling the knot in your throat. Did this happen yesterday, too? It’s a blur. You breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, maybe the knot will go away. You can’t remember the last time breathing didn’t feel like drowning.

Shaking off the discomfort, you stand up and slowly make your way to the bathroom. You turn the tap on and splash cool water on your face. When you look back up at yourself in the mirror, the knot in your throat sinks into your stomach, planting another seed of dread to grow like a weed.

Your name is John Egbert, and you’ve been tired for ten years. Dad wasn’t kidding when he talked about kids having more energy than adults, you guess. Did he say anything about nightmares, though? Because you’ve been having those. Or, at least, you think you have. You’ve been hearing screams in your dreams, and forgetting them as soon as you wake up. You just remember the feeling of fear, of desperation clawing its way up from something deep, deep inside of you. You’re not sure Dad ever said anything about that, but… you put that thought aside and brush your teeth. You don’t keep eye contact with yourself in the mirror for longer than a second. The dread expands.

You stumble on your way to the kitchen. You don’t really feel hungry, but you know if you don’t eat breakfast you’ll just get nauseous later. So, you pour yourself a small bowl of cereal and reach into the fridge for some milk.

The cold rush as soon as you open the fridge door feels familiar, and you can’t quite put your finger on why. Your touch lingers on the frost pooling at the edges of the carton of milk. It feels like a vacuum, it sucks you in, but in a pleasant way that you don’t understand. It’s different, somehow, than most things you experience now. It feels sharp and real.

It’s kind of bullshit that you’re thinking so much about some ice, you think, and pull the carton out of the fridge.

There’s barely any fucking milk in it.

You eat your mostly-dry cereal with an air of disappointment. Looks like today’s task is going to be going to the store and getting some milk.

Your phone buzzes. 2 unread messages in the neighborhood group chat. You silence the group chat. While you’re at it, you browse some social media. It looks like Dave, Karkat and Jade are camping, from the looks of a Snapchat story of a burning fire in a forest. Kanaya seems to be having some shenanigans while nursing a bunch of troll grubs. Jane is baking some cupcakes with Dirk and Jake. Roxy and Calliope… you don’t look at that one. No news from Rose.

Your head pounds. You close your eyes. Put the phone away.

 

You remember the screams. The fear. The desperation. It claws at you. You remember… you remember Jade. Jane. Under thrall. Rose and Roxy and Jake and Dirk and Dave. Terezi dying at your feet.

Was any of that real? Is this?

 

You’re drowning in air.

 

You stare at your cereal. Static. 

 

...

 

You realize you’ve been staring blankly at your bowl and holding the spoon in your mouth for two minutes. You put it down into your half-eaten bowl of cereal, which you’ve decided you’re not going to finish. You chuck the remainder of your cereal and the milk carton in a compost bin, and drop your dirty dishes in the sink, for future John to worry about.

You gotta leave and get that milk.

 

Do you need to get dressed to go to the corner shop? The salamanders don’t care. Even if they did, you’ll only be out for 15 minutes, max. You decide that the corner shop is not a formal enough affair to get dressed for.

On your way out, you stop to grab a small rock from a shallow decorative bowl of them near your door. The corner shop owner, Sanders, really likes it when you bring him some cool rocks. You’ve taken to picking up interesting ones when you’re out for a walk, to give to him when you stop by his shop. Why not, right? It makes him smile.

You stop and look at the rock in your hand. It’s dark like obsidian, but not shiny, almost like charcoal. You expect it to rub off on your fingers, but it doesn’t leave a trace. It feels oddly heavy, weighing down the palm of your hand. You squint at it, turn it around on your fingertips. It looks like it could be a bug, or maybe it could be a goat. You slip the rock into your pocket, aware of the way it weighs the cloth slightly down on your leg.

 

You open the door. A light breeze hits your face almost immediately. It hugs your body as you take a step out and close the door behind you. You breathe in. Breathe out. Feel the dread fade, just a little. Feel yourself drowning a little bit less.

You start up the hill on the way to the corner shop. You know you could much more easily fly there than walk, but you like to walk. It reminds you that you’ve got legs, like everyone else. With every step, you feel the weighty rock in your pocket bounce and nudge your leg. With each nudge, it feels like the rock gets a little heavier and the dread gets a little lighter, in a way that seems almost too on-the-nose.

You pass a few salamanders on the way. They smile politely at you, and you give them a toothy grin each time. It feels more like a real smile with each passing attempt. By the time you get to the top of the hill, you’ve stopped to chat with one or two of your salamander neighbors. Pleasantries mostly, about how nice the weather is, the upcoming neighborhood barbecue, about how their kids are doing. The last smile you give feels more real than anything else this morning. A thought tries to crawl up from the depths of the weeds in your stomach, but you stuff it down as you step into the corner store.

 

Sanders greets you enthusiastically. You smile at him, brightly, teeth prominent and eyes squinting. He tells you a joke. You laugh. The thought goes away. The dread gets smaller.

You go to the back of the shop and get your carton of milk, and pick up a quick snack as you’re at the checkout counter. You hand Sanders your payment, and then his rock. It feels heavier and lighter than it did when you started, somehow. He seems utterly delighted by it, twisting it in his hand and appreciating its odd shape and dark color.

 

“It almost looks like a bug, or maybe a goat.” 

 

You nod and smile easily. Breathe. You thought that too, you say. He thanks you profusely, grateful for another rock to add to his collection. You give him a warm goodbye before stepping out of the corner store.

 

The way down the hill seems more daunting than the way up did.


End file.
